


Is That Really Necessary?

by asarcasticwitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beta Peter Hale, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Breeding, Claiming, Cock Slut Stiles Stilinski, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Coming In Pants, Deepthroating, Derogatory Language, Dry Orgasm, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hair-pulling, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Multiple Orgasms, Not Beta Read, Older Man/Younger Man, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Third Person, Possessive Behavior, Protective Peter Hale, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Rutting, Scent Kink, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, Top Peter Hale, Werewolf Mates, Wet & Messy, Wolfed Out Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: Peter doesn’t need a mate. Hell, he doesn’t even date; he gets laid and leaves. He renders his partner an incoherent mess then walks out the door, never to be seen again.But, somehow, he can’t shake off the feeling of rightness as he peppers nipping kisses across the boy’s jaw. Can’t help how the sweet sickly scent of spiced apple and vanilla overwhelms him with the feeling of home.He wants to give in.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 32
Kudos: 677





	Is That Really Necessary?

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I started writing something intending for it to be rough and dirty, but instead, it ends up kind of sweet. I am incapable of writing Peter as a bad guy towards Stiles. I wanted this to be him taking advantage of him and using him for his own pleasure but nope, can't even stomach writing the words. One day, I swear. 
> 
> I just want to add a little warning before you jump in; I have added a manipulation tag, but it's really not that focused on. In a certain light, this could be seen as Stiles taking advantage of Peter, knowing he will wolf out and lose control of his senses since they are mates, but in the end, Peter isn't bothered. There's also no former discussion on the claiming but rest assured it's what they both want; I just didn't want to make this fic too long and drawn out by explaining everything down to the last minuscule detail.
> 
> There will be tons of mistakes as I don't have a Beta, so it's just Grammarly and me for the time being—I tried my best. This is all just a bit of fun for me, some writing practice really so I'm not going to stress too much over the technicalities.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

_Six minutes._

Six. Goddamn. Motherfucking. Minutes, Stiles has been sucking on that popsicle like some sort of seasoned harlot. It’s driving Peter past distraction and straight into the realm of one more torturous minute of this, and he’ll be wolfing out—fangs, claws, extra cheekbones, the whole shebang.

The boy has to know that he looks like sin personified, has to realize what he’s doing goes beyond just innocently _eating_. No person on this earth who doesn’t at least have a slight interest in gaining everyone’s attention would even dream of licking up the sticky drips on their fingers in such a seductive manner.

He’s doing it in slow motion for Goddess' sake.

Peter isn’t the only one in the room to witness such temptation, and from the smell of it, Isaac and Derek aren’t exactly unaffected by Stiles’ display either. However, they both at least have the decency—or maybe morals—to focus their gaze elsewhere, their scents of low-key arousal mixing feebly with embarrassment and guilt.

Peter doesn’t have that sort of self-control, nor does he care if the other two wolfs can sense how affected he is. He’s unashamed, considering they wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if they called him out on it.

That’s what makes it so entertaining.

He’s not the type of man to deny himself the thrill of watching what could be classed as live pornography—unlike those pair of righteous do-gooders. Peter would laugh at them if he had the relative brain capacity to do so. However, he currently has something else enthralling his full attention.

The four of them had been researching, not for anything in particular, just all making use of Peter’s extensive library to gain more knowledge on different aspects of the supernatural.

Isaac and Derek are seated at the dining room table. A barrier—in the form of a chair—is in between them to better reiterate their unwillingness to give in to the undeniable chemistry they have. Even the humans of the pack can sense it; it’s beyond ridiculous.

But Peter’s not about to judge or criticize; he’s above such petty behavior—outside his own head, at least.

Peter had been relaxing quite contentedly in his luxurious leather armchair reading some ancient witch’s book of shadows when Stiles decided it the most prudent time to deep throat a multi-colored ice lolly.

When exactly he vacated his position to get said ice lolly, Peter couldn’t say as he wasn’t paying attention to that part. His eyes only snapping up at the first utterly obscene slurp that came from the sofa across from him not six whole minutes ago.

Stiles is still reading the bestiary in his lap, totally unaware of the wolf’s eyes boring into him with every sloppy twirl of his tongue.

The boy is a virgin; Peter knows that to be a fact, but with the way he’s hollowing his cheeks and shoving that thing between his red, swollen lips without stopping for breath, he has to wonder if he’s maybe not as virtuous as he first appears.

It’s not exactly small, only an inch or so off Peter’s own length, so he doesn’t doubt for a second the boy’s ability to take the whole thing into his throat—the stick included.

Peter’s cock is hard enough to drill through marble; there’s no point sugar-coating it. The jeans he’s currently wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the evidence of his increasing lust—as painted on as they are.

If he stood up, he’d no doubt poke someone’s eye out.

What’s worse is that he can feel himself leaking, his dick twitching against his cotton briefs every time the boy lets out one of those indulgent moans. He’s going to be soaking by the time Stiles gets down to the wood, and after six minutes, he’s not even three-quarters of the way.

At the corner of his eye, Peter can see his Alpha tense as Stiles gets louder and more brazen with his guzzling. His hands are a mess, unable to catch every single drop of melting ice as it escapes past his mouth.

Peter wants to go over there and lick it all off, suck every single one of the boy’s artificially flavored fingers until they’re squeaky clean.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek finally snaps, pulling Peter from his musings to listen in to the impending scolding. “Is that really necessary?”

Stiles startles, expression going slack-jawed, the lolly hanging from his bottom lip—tempting fate—as he lets go of the stick on reflex. He hums questioningly at the Alpha, grabbing the popsicle as it starts to slip, swallowing everything in his mouth before speaking. “What?” he asks dumbly, clearly not as aware of his actions as Peter first assumed.

Or perhaps he’s just an exceptional actor.

“You’re... being _loud_ ,” Derek grits through his teeth, voice hinting at a growl.

Looking closer, Peter notices the Alpha’s fist white-knuckled into one of the pages in the book he was reading. The paper is ripped almost to shreds in his grip.

That makes him smirk.

“Oh, come on, nephew, he’s not hurting anyone,” Peter chirps, grin widening at the glare he receives. “Ignore him, dear boy,” he keeps his teasing gaze on his nephew as he addresses Stiles. “He’s just... _frustrated_.”

Derek snarls at Peter’s insinuation but goes back to what he was doing, muttering under his breath as he disposes of the strips of paper hanging from his claws.

“Sorry, Der, I didn’t know you were in a mood,” Stiles offers sympathetically, to which Derek’s jaw clenches, but he says nothing more.

Peter snorts, shooting Isaac a wink as the beta tries to hold back his own amusement.

“Just resume what you were doing, sweetheart,” Peter purrs, once again ignoring the other occupants in the room as he asserts his full attention back to the boy.

His eyes are no doubt blown black with desire, nostrils flaring as more sugared liquid flows down the teen’s hand.

Gods above, he wants nothing more than to devour his mouth, to taste the heady richness mixed with the sweet directly from the source. He wants to feel the stark difference in temperature, his own searing tongue mixing sensually with the freezing cold.

A pleasant shudder breezes through his bones as his mind helpfully supplies the phantom sensation straight to his cock.

Something in his gaze must finally clue Stiles into his inner turmoil. The boys face twisting into a filthy smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief as they rake over the apparent bulge in Peter’s pants.

Peter doesn’t squirm under the assessment, just quirks his eyebrow in challenge, spreading his legs wider in invitation—putting himself further on display—as he places his book down on the side table. He doesn’t miss the flick of Stiles’ tongue, further wetting his bottom lip in anticipation as his expression turns hungry.

Distantly he hears his Alpha groan in irritation, but he pays him no mind, nor does Stiles. Their eyes lock on one another, blocking out everyone else in the room, concentration firmly on each other as if they’re completely alone.

Stiles’ scent turns sharp, vibrant and musky, the intoxicating aroma hitting Peter’s nostrils with startling velocity. It makes his eyes flash supernatural blue; he can’t help it; the knowledge that the boy is just as turned on as he is, makes his wolf want to howl and sing.

It’s no secret that he’s wanted the boy from the first moment they met. He’s no believer in love at first sight; technically, he’d go as far as to say he isn’t capable of the emotion, but what he does feel for Stiles goes beyond all that. It’s infinitely more primal, more instinctual.

He wants to fuck the boy into every surface in their vicinity, have him screaming and sobbing as he ruts into his tight little ass or his sinfully pouty lips until he begs for mercy. He wants him a mess of tears, sweat and come; wants him to be his own personal fuck toy whenever he asks for it. But, he also wants the boy to crave his touch, to sneer at the prospects of anyone else, for the boy to learn what it means to belong to a wolf, body and soul. To rely on Peter to be his safety, his security, to take care of him in every sense of the word. He wants-

_Mate._

Peter shakes his head to clear it, not realizing he’d been panting as his mind wandered through dark and dangerous notions. Stiles opens his mouth wide, eyes never straying from Peters as he slowly trails the dripping lolly across his tongue, this time putting more effort into the theatrics.

Peter is throbbing, almost vibrating out of his skin as his wolf scratches at the surface, determined to shatter his wavering willpower and burst to the fore.

It goes on for seconds, minutes, hours, Peter doesn’t know, but by the time Stiles is down to the stick—his deft tongue curling around the soaked wood to clean off every last drop of flavor—Peter is past the point of no return.

He’s ready to _take._

Stiles stands from his seat, face feigning innocence despite the evidence to the contrary in his jeans. “Damn, it’s all gone.” He flutters his lush eyelashes at Peter exaggeratedly. “Now how am I going to keep my mouth busy?”

Peter would laugh at the corniness of it, his wide doe eyes, his coy tone, but he’s just about holding on to his control by a single frayed thread.

Stiles is playing a wicked game, and Peter is helpless not to join in.

“Derek, get out,” he orders calmly, not even daring to turn away from the smirking minx before him.

“Excuse me?” Derek huffs, but Peter doesn’t even hazard a glance at the Alpha. He’s too busy undressing his prey with his eyes to give heed to his petulant nephew. “This is my-”

“Fine, stay,” Peter interrupts, shrugging nonchalantly. “But don’t say I didn’t give you the chance.”

Without further warning, Peter pounces on Stiles, tackling him to the floor without any finesse. His hands automatically capture the boy's head, instinct driving him to protect the teen from getting too damaged.

Stiles’ flailing limbs sprawl across the floor in no particular order. He releases a startled yelp, breath coming out in heaving pants as Peter pins his wrists above his head before ravaging his mouth in a brutally possessive kiss. 

“Oh for fuck sake,” Derek curses, but Peter doesn’t pay any attention to his nephew, too busy chasing the delicious fruity taste on Stiles’ tongue to give a shit about their audience. “Come on, Is.”

“About damn time,” Peter thinks he hears the curly-haired beta chuckle under his breath before Derek drags him towards the door, but he’s too consumed in the boy beneath him to process the exact words.

“I better find this place spotless when I come back, or I swear to the Gods, Peter,” the Alpha warns, to which Peter finally raises his head from his conquest to growl threateningly. His eyes spark blue, too far gone to bother with proper enunciation, his wolf willing to fight against any further interruptions to staking his claim. 

Derek huffs, throwing his hands in the air in defeat before leaving the Loft with his boy toy in tow, slamming the door behind them with an enraged force.

“Jesus, wolfie, you’re really pent up, huh?” Stiles giggles flirtatiously as he tests the strength of Peter’s grip on his wrists, smiling gleefully when they barely move an inch. “There seems to be a lot of unresolved sexual tension in here, doesn’t there?”

Peter rumbles low in his chest, wanting nothing more than to wipe the self-satisfied grin off the boy’s face.

Stiles unfurls his fingers, fanning them out in a placating gesture, the little shits smirk growing impossibly wider. “Go on then, creeper wolf,” he goads, eyes blazing with the challenge, his chest expanding wildly with his desire. “Have your way with me, give me everything.” 

Peter roars, lunging for the teen's throat, mouth latching onto the skin above his collarbone to suck vivid bruises into the pale skin. He’s yearned for this for so long, had many a fantasy involving Stiles’ delicately sinuous neck. He just wants to bite, to mark, to-

 _No_ , he won’t. He’ll reign himself in. Not submit to the temptations, not give in to his wolf’s haunting chants of _mate, mate, mate_. 

Peter doesn’t need a mate. Hell, he doesn’t even date; he gets laid and leaves. He renders his partner an incoherent mess then walks out the door, never to be seen again.

But, somehow, he can’t shake off the feeling of rightness as he peppers nipping kisses across the boy’s jaw. Can’t help how the sweet sickly scent of spiced apple and vanilla overwhelms him with the feeling of _home_. 

He wants to give in.

Stiles writhes underneath him, hips jerking upwards in uncoordinated movements to gain any amount of friction he can. The richness of his arousal envelopes Peter in a tight embrace, almost choking him with its potency.

He wants to drown in the scent, bottle it up for future reference. He wants to bask in the warmth of the body he has pinned to the floor, wants to wake up to those wide amber eyes, those soft, mole dotted cheeks, that cute button nose every day for the rest of his life.

_No._

“Stiles,” Peter groans as his hips grind against the boy’s, easing the ache building low in his gut as he struggles to regain his composure.

“Please, Peter, I need you,” Stiles whimpers, his fingers digging into the meat of his biceps as he rocks eagerly to meet Peter's movements.

 _Fuck_ , how can he deny such pretty words? 

“Tell me what you want, Stiles,” Peter slurs through his fangs, his shift not abating, each breath he takes to calm himself only making it worse as the scent of _mate_ assaults every single one of his senses.

He’s a slave to his instincts, his mind filling with a heady fog as he gets lost in the passion.

At this moment, every thought, every feeling, every desire revolves around _Stiles_.

Stiles sobs, unrestrained, as his pleasure rises to engulf him. “I just want you, Peter, anything, everything, I don’t care.” 

Peter is powerless, can’t keep up the fight against what he wants most, so he gives in to the inevitable, allows himself the thrill of finally feeling alive—feeling free. “Come for me, baby, let me see you.” 

The boy shakes apart beneath him, beautiful in every expression, every blissful gasp and moan falling from his lax mouth. Peter kisses him through the shocks, relishing in the cold touch of his lips, the sweet fruity zest still clinging to his tongue.

He rumbles low in his throat, cock pulsing insistently as the boy calms, his wolf exploding past the final hurdle, no longer being forced into the shadows. “I’m going to fuck your throat, sweet boy,” he grits through his fangs, eyes hard and unrelenting, face contorting into sharpened ridges. “And you’re going to take it, like a good little bitch.”

Stiles’ eyes widen at the words, but with the cloud of renewed arousal hitting his nostrils and the delicate mewl that leaves his throat, Peter is under no illusion that he enjoys it. 

“Yes,” Stiles gasps, head nodding frantically. “I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

_Perfect mate._

Peter crawls up the boy’s body, straddling his broad shoulders as he tears at the buttons and zipper of his jeans, claws making quick work of both.

His cock springs free from his brief as the cotton material shreds, the tip angry and weeping as it smacks against his clothed stomach. He doesn’t bother removing any more fabric, just takes the boys head in his hands, mouth splitting into a predatory grin. “Open wide, sweetheart.”

The teen obeys, relaxing his jaw completely as Peter feeds his cock past his puffy lips, inch by inch, not stopping until he’s sheathed entirely in the cool constriction.

The sensation is indescribable, the coldness where it should be warm, the soft velvet walls, his rough, sticky tongue, all of it overwhelms him, making his thighs tremble and shake.

Stiles only gags slightly as the head hits the back of his throat, swallowing compulsively to adjust. Tears stream down his flushed cheeks, but he’s not making any move to stop the proceedings. Instead, he’s holding onto Peter’s jeans as he submits to everything he’s given.

Peter isn’t about to disappoint. “That’s it, take every fucking inch,” he encourages as he begins to move, starting off with shallow aborted jerks, soon turning into rough and animalistic rutting.

The scent of Stiles dripping profusely elicits another primitive growl. Knowing the boy is getting off on having his throat fucked, makes him delirious—feral. His pace picks up, chasing the searing pleasure burning low in his spine.

Drool rolls from the boy’s mouth, cheeks hollowing as he tries desperately to suck the wolf’s soul out through his dick. The sloppy wet sounds fill the room, making Peter's balls draw up as he hurtles towards the precipice. “I’m gonna come, baby,” he warns. “And you’re going to swallow every last drop I give you.”

Stiles nods, eyes rolling into the back of his head as Peter's command flows through him.

Peter bows his back, one of his hands moving to claw open the boy’s jeans and boxers, fingers curling loosely around his shaft—hard again from the satisfaction of being thoroughly used.

Stiles arches at the skin on skin contact, his hot flesh pulsing in Peter’s hand as he shoots into the boy’s mouth, his thick release coating his throat as his last few thrusts slide him in to the root.

Peter howls as Stiles swallows around him, milking him for everything he has. A loud moan vibrates in the boy’s chest as his second orgasm barrels through him, harder than his first, his body trembling violently as he thrusts into Peter's slack fist until he whines with overstimulation.

Peter pulls out, crawling back down the boy’s lax frame until he’s in line with his softening cock. He runs his fingers through the come coating the teens t-shirt, bringing the wet digits up to his mouth, sucking them clean with an appreciative hum.

Stiles gives a valiant twitch at the display, whimpering softly. “That should not be as hot as it is,” he comments, breathlessly, voice raw from the rough treatment, eyes half-lidded as he watches Peter lick up his come like it’s his favorite treat.

Peter gives the boy a moment to catch his breath, looking up at him with supernatural blue-tinged vision. The sight of his mate satisfied and boneless beneath him is enough to get his wolf preening with victory.

But he’s not done yet. He hasn’t even flagged; he’s nowhere near finished with the boy.

“That was-” Stiles squawks, sentence cut off as Peter divests him of his clothes, throwing them behind him in an untidy pile.

He looks his fill, eyes sweeping greedily over every lean muscle and slightly protruding bone.

The boy is gorgeous, there’s no doubt about it, exactly Peters type in every way. 

“Oh, we’re not finished yet, dear boy,” Peter purrs, grinning at the pitiful mewl he gets in return.

He flips the teen onto his belly, hand pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him to the floor. “Stay,” he commands, only moving away when the boy mutters his affirmative. 

Peter leans back, body twisting to reach over to the coffee table behind him. He seeks blindly in the drawer, knowing he’ll find a half-empty bottle of lube in there somewhere.

Derek’s not so subtle. 

His fingers finally grasp the clear bottle, lifting it out and throwing it down beside the teen. He makes quick work of his own clothes, using the knives on his hands to tear the fabric, flinging the tatters haphazardly across the floor. 

He turns his attention back to Stiles, the boy bare except for his underwear, waiting obediently for whatever Peter is going to do to him. 

Peter rumbles approvingly as he creeps forward, kneeling behind the boy to curl his fingers around his hips. The pressure is bruising as he lifts him into a presenting position, folding his knees underneath him to put him on full display.

He rips away the last barrier, growling possessively as he gazes upon the teen in his completely naked state. Stiles’ skin blooms a delightful shade of pink, slight embarrassment worming its way into his scent as Peter does nothing but stare at him as if starved. 

“You’ve no need to be embarrassed, little one; you’re absolutely stunning,” Peter assures him, fingers reaching out to skim across the boy’s hole. “And you’re all mine.” 

“Yours,” Stiles whimpers, muscles clenching at the sudden touch.

Peter dives in, licking a sloppy wet stripe over the boy's center, earning a guttural cry from the human. His scent is more concentrated here, the taste bursting across his tongue nothing less than addicting, the remnants of the sweet sugary ice in his mouth mixing with Stiles’ sharp flavor. 

Peter gives him everything, nipping and sucking on his tender rim until it relaxes under his ministrations. He spears his tongue, driving the boy crazy as he licks him open. Stiles lets out desperate little whines for more as he rocks back into Peter’s face, his stubble scraping against his sensitive skin.

It’s not long before Stiles is hard again, his cock hanging heavily between his quivering thighs. 

_Teenage libido be praised._

Peter isn’t much better; werewolf stamina a force to be reckoned with, but he ignores it for now. Content on making Stiles beg for release before even contemplating his own. 

He snatches the lube from the floor, coating two of his fingers in the slick as he fucks the boy with his tongue. He moves back, grinning at the mournful whimper but doesn’t make Stiles wait long before plunging both fingers in—right to the knuckle. 

Stiles wails at the sudden penetration, his walls clenching desperately as he adjusts to the breach. It doesn’t take him long, Peter’s mouth having opened him up enough that he’ll feel no discomfort. He gives his finger a few slides before adding a third, Stiles hissing through his teeth at the stinging stretch. 

The teen is begging divinely by the time Peter has four fingers scissoring inside him, each thrust grazing his sweet spot, making his body light up like electricity. He keeps pleading for more, for anything to push him over that edge once again. 

Peter leans forward, his free hand twisting into the human’s hair, tugging harshly to arch his neck as he purrs into his ear. “You’ll not come again until I have my cock in you,” he orders, forcing him to fight against the heat building in his core; he’s so close Peter can taste it, it just makes him all the more persistent. “You’ll be a good bitch and let me breed you, come on my cock like the needy slut you are or not at all.” 

Stiles nods frantically, unable to voice his affirmative as his muscles tense, trying with all his might to pull himself back from the edge.

Peter’s chest puffs out with pride at his obedience; he decides to take pity on the boy and not make him wait any longer. He watches, entranced, as he pulls out his fingers, Stiles’ hole clenching on nothing, whining at the loss of contact, gasping as the cool air hits his burning skin.

Peter shushes him as he glides his hand over his cock, spreading the slick, adding a bit more from the bottle before lining himself up. 

His balls connect with the teen’s ass in one sure roll of his hips, a lewd slap echoing through the room as he’s fully encased in the tight heat.

Stiles’ mouth gapes open, legs widening further, back arching deliciously as he breathes through the intrusion. His body adapts instinctively to the thick weight inside him, his walls opening up as the wolf hollows him out.

Peter’s breath is punched out of him at the crippling sensation, gasping as he’s submerged in the cloying vapor surrounding them. He’s going to ruin the boy for anyone else, carve his place inside him so anyone who even dares to come after him will know they’ll _never_ fill him like Peter, that Stiles will _never_ belong to anyone like he belongs to Peter. 

“ _Mine_ ,” he growls, wolf snarling at the thought of Stiles with anyone else. Claws biting into the teen’s hips as he gives in to his baser urges, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, showing no mercy as he ruts in as deep as he can go. “ _Mine, mine, mine,”_ he chants with every thrust of his hips. The edges of his gaze illuminated with sapphire as he buries himself into the boy over and over again with unrelenting fervor.

“Yours,” Stiles answers breathlessly, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the wooden floor as Peter jostles his body with his punishing pace. “I’ll always be yours.” 

“ _Mate_ ,” Peter murmurs, fangs cutting up the word as it leaves his lips. 

“Yes,” Stiles agrees, voice honest and sincere. “I’m your mate, as you are mine.” He’s not just spouting incoherent noises amidst his sex-induced haze; he means every word.

His arms coil around the human’s chest, pulling him up, his back connecting with Peter’s chest as he continues to move inside him, his hips grinding ruthlessly. 

Stiles’ head lolls back onto his shoulder, expression contorting with delight at the new angle, honey tinted eyes searching Peter’s bestial features with a fond smile.

Peter noses at the boy’s hair, snarling and grunting as he takes in greedy gulps of his scent, his balls drawing up once again as the fire in his gut threatens to erupt. Clamoring dizzily towards that place he knows only Stiles will ever again be able to take him.

His inhuman teeth graze over the teen’s neck, jaw twitching as he battles with his instincts to leave him unmarked.

“Do it,” Stiles whispers at Peter’s obvious faltering, his eyes twinkling with sincerity. “Make me yours.” He tilts his head to the side to highlight his meaning, permitting Peter to take what he so desperately wants.

What they _both_ so desperately crave.

Stiles cries out as Peter’s fangs pierce the skin above his collarbone, coming dry as the pain pushes him into white-hot euphoria.

Peter follows him over the edge, the copper taste on his tongue along with the boys intermittent constricting has his hips stuttering, his climax crashing over him with one final thrust, claiming his mate completely from the inside out.

He lets go of Stiles’ flesh, throwing his head back to roar triumphantly as the mating bond locks into place, tendrils of white bursting across his vision as the ecstasy becomes almost too much to bear. 

He holds them both upright, grounding Stiles as he convulses through the aftermath of his pleasure. Stroking his fingers over his chest, soothing him with praising words as his breathing calms. He laps at the blood trickling from the wound on his throat, purring contentedly as it scabs up under the healing heat of his tongue.

The heavy mist in Peter's mind clears, his shift suddenly receding as he’s coaxed back to coherency. 

“Come back to me,” Stiles whispers, amber eyes staring at Peter with affectionate adoration, hand trailing over the side of his face as he waits patiently for Peter to recover from his high. 

“I’m with you,” Peter affirms, lips curling upwards as he plants a delicate kiss to the human’s sweat-slicked cheek. “I’ll always be with you.”

Stiles smiles, wide and unbridled, the smell of contentment—of happiness—drifting through the room.

Peter’s heart clenches, realizing not for the first time that the boy now encased in his embrace, is everything he could ever want. The other half of his own heart, his soul mate, his everything _._

His _home._

Using what’s left of his strength, he positions the boy comfortably on his back on the floor. His chest puffing out with pride at how wrecked the teen looks, but he can’t help snorting at the thought of his nephew throwing a hissy fit whenever he returns.

The smell alone will be enough ammunition to get the Alpha in a rage, never mind the state of the hardwood—as scratched and ruined as it is. Peter has zero shred’s of a clue when that happened, but he can’t bring it upon himself to care; anything to rile his nephew up is a bonus in his book.

He just hopes the bumbling brute doesn’t have the intelligence to mock him for his hypocrisy. If the sexual tension between Derek and Isaac was enough to get even Lydia grimacing with disgust, he wonders what it was like between him and Stiles.

His spiteful ass hopes it was unbearable. 

Peter lays down beside his panting mate, tucking him close to his chest. Arms once again wrapping around him protectively, muscles relaxing as he submits to his wolfs need to keep him safe.

“How long have you known?” he whispers after a few moments silence, fingers brushing through the boy’s damp curls as his heartrate evens out. 

“A few weeks,” Stiles answers almost timidly, gulping audibly as his mouth dries of all moisture. “I noticed how you migrated towards me a lot more, the subtle touches, defending me on more than several occasions, so I researched and came up with mates. It wasn’t intentional for me to test that theory out today, but when you shifted at the sight of me eating a popsicle, I knew I’d guessed right,” Stiles explains, sighing shakily before he continues. “I’m sorry for not saying anything.” 

Peter shakes his head. “No need to apologize, dear boy. I should be the one groveling; I lost control. I could've hurt you,” he tries for airy and unaffected, but it falls flat at the implication of ever causing his mate harm.

“But you didn’t,” Stiles answers quickly at Peters wavering tone, assuring him that he’s unharmed aside from a few bruises. “You didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t want, Peter. I asked for everything; you gave me everything.” Stiles cuddles into his warmth, arms tightening over his chest as if to stop Peter from ever leaving.

 _I’ll never leave you_ , he wants to say, but he stays silent for now.

“As soon as I read the word _mate_ , I knew it was what I wanted, but I didn’t know how to bring it up,” the teen continues, unaware of Peter's inner chaos. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I just- I never dreamed that you’d want me too.”

“Of course I want you,” Peter silences his mate’s anxieties. “I’ve never been secretive of that, but your first time should've been gentle,” he mumbles, and for the first time in his life, unyielding guilt is rearing its ugly head. “Or on a bed, at least.”

“It was perfect, Peter,” Stiles answers, voice soft and honest. Peter can hear the smile in his words. “I knew you’d be wolfed out, and it didn’t bother me,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, as if Peter in his beta shift isn’t the most ungodly sight to behold. “I liked it.”

Peter snorts, unbelieving, but he doesn’t voice his grievances. “I never thought I’d have a mate. Never thought I deserved one.”

“I know,” Stiles comments sadly. “That’s why I gave you a little push.” His scent turns sour, disgraced, regretful. The salty tang of tears assaulting Peters senses. “But it was manipulative of me; we should've discussed it first, I know that, and I’m so sorry-”

“Shhh, sweet boy,” Peter hauls Stiles closer as he tries to wriggle free, hushing his remorseful rambles before he works himself into a panic. “I’ve desired you for longer than I care to admit; I just didn’t want to give in to myself, didn’t want to believe I needed someone else in order to feel whole,” he soothes, rubbing circles into the boys back until he calms. “But, I _do_ need you, I always have; I was just too stubborn to accept it.”

Stiles doesn’t reply, just snuffles against his skin, nodding in acknowledgment.

“And besides,” Peter continues, voice taking on a more playful lilt. “You wouldn’t be perfect for me if you weren’t—in the very least—a little bit manipulative,” he sarks, unable to hack the seriousness for too long.

He meant every word he said, and he’s confident Stiles knows it, but it’s just not in his nature to show his emotions openly. He’s flirtatious, witty and sarcastic; he doesn’t do caring or devoted, especially not after all these years spent alone. He’s sure he’ll learn, or Stiles will no doubt encourage his softer side at some point, but until then, he’s content with deflecting every mushy situation with humor.

Stiles snorts, knowing fine well what Peter is doing, but doesn’t see fit to confront him on it. “You think I’m perfect?” he chirps, head tilting to look up at Peter, eyes dancing with mirth as he wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously.

Peter huffs in amusement, leaning forward to nip at the corner of the boy’s smirking mouth. “You’re perfect for me.”

**Author's Note:**

> It started out with a popsicle, how did it end up like this? It was only a popsicle, it was only a popsicle—or however, the song goes. Yep, I have no idea either, guys, so let's just roll with it. 
> 
> If I need to add any more tags or warnings, please let me know as the last thing I want to do is offend anyone. 
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr at [asarcasticwitch](http://asarcasticwitch.tumblr.com). I'm friendly, I promise.
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated; thank you for reading!


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